Skipped
by Loonynamelass
Summary: It's the night of a wedding, but a few key characters are having doubts. HG/HP, predominantly HG/RW & follows canon.
1. Sleeping or Waking?

**Disclaimer: The series of Harry Potter was illustrated by Mary GrandPre. On a related note, it was also written by J. K. Rowling.

* * *

**

I closed my eyes tight and willed sleep to come to me. _Come, you da*ned sheep!_ Unfortunately, it did not hasten to obey my demands, and I was left to lie in my bed alone, perhaps for the last time. Left to lie and to ponder lies...

Harry's sleeping place was four floors above me, on a camp bed beside the groom. He was probably sleeping. _What might he be dreaming?_ I wondered drowsily. _Did he dream of Quidditch, or were they instead 'fantasies' that the twins would tease Ronald about? (Who would star in them?) _ We had never discussed dreams. Not unless they were his nightmarish visions of Voldemort's actions. The snake, the door… It was ironic, really. The closest I ever got to knowing what was inside his mind was when he was inside Voldemort's.

Voldemort. What a strange thrill on my tongue. The soft caress of my front teeth on the inside of my bottom lip (_oh, remember that amateur duel between Harry and Malfoy, when the latter's spell missed and hit me in the face? That was certainly a subject of some of _my_ nightmares_) as it stroked upward, and then my entire mouth was caught suspended for a moment before pulled down onto my tongue to end the first syllable. My tongue then seemed to change its mind from gentility to violence and it broke away from the roof of my mouth and then it closed and opened, it's last gentle movement like blowing a kiss.

The _t_, never pronounced, left me with the last syllable, "more…" fading away into the darkness from which it came. That small circular motion, a revolution beginning with barely opened lips and concluding with an open mouth, my entire face transfixed in a state of calm that transcended thought… Harry taught me that. It was fifth year, and he, who had more reason to fear Voldemort but had been saying the name from the moment he discovered it, inspired me to join him. It was like taking a step nearer to him, when I first pathetically stuttered out the name of the man to whose defeat I would later devote a year of my life to. It was like learning to kiss.

Harry first inspired me to say it, but it was Ron who then banned the sound from our mouths. "Just show You-Know-Who some respect, will you?" I still remember those words and that night. Somehow, his injured form lying there left me winded, and so I busied myself tending to him, serving him some tea… and there was something about him as he mumbled on about Reg and Mary Cattermole and I felt a strange rushing inside that Harry soon interrupted.

Had I taken that moment too far? Was it foolish to assume a relationship on a few moments? There were other times, too, of course. Ron being jealous of Viktor after the Yule Ball –ha! We hadn't even kissed! And just a year ago… His red face when I mentioned his underpants being washed was priceless! Dirty thoughts, Mr. Weasley? He complimented me, too, when I was decorating for the wedding.

_Is that really a reason for love? A compliment? McGonagall complimented your spellwork; do you want to marry _her_?_ hissed a nasty voice from the back of my head, breaking me out of my reverie.

_Oh_, the thought struck me with unparalleled force. _My wedding is tomorrow!_ All notion of sleep was behind me now. _My wedding…! Harry as best man, and Ron the groom…_ The nasty voice sneered, and insisted the roles be switched…

Finally forced to face the internal conflict that had haunted me since that happy day of Voldemort's downfall, of my engagement, I was overwhelmed. Memory after memory accosted me…

It was Harry's second game of the year, and I was so excited for him, prancing on the seats and screaming at him with Parvati as Harry's lean form sped towards a fleck of gold. Unnoticed by me, Ron rolled around underneath, valiantly defending his honor with the aid of Neville against the three Slytherin brutes. Well, now I've more than noticed him…

We backed away slowly. I was frightened beyond my wits, of that gigantic form that loomed ever closer. I only spoke in terrified squeaks to Hagrid and dazedly wondered how he could have such little sense. Grawp lunged for me, I was paralyzed still, but then Harry's strong arms firmly grasped me around my waist and took me behind the tree, where I lay in his arms like a doll until Hagrid began to lead us back to the game… The game that Ron won…

This time I walked before him with a purpose, inspired by the memory of our last venture into the forest. The idiotic Umbridge let her own arrogance lead herself into my trap, and once again Harry grabbed me and yanked me away from danger –this time, safety was facedown on the ground…

In this memory Ron was once again absent, but this time at the selfish expense of his "best friend." Depression met me face to face, quite apart from any dementor, when I glanced into his green, almond shaped eyes across the library table. Then I lowered my head again to the heaps of volumes. _The best prevention against dragon flame,_ the book ran,_ is bathing in that selfsame dragon's spittle for approximately seventeen hours straight_. If we only knew which dragon he was facing…

Harry was calling my name, and his eyes were feverish. Despite his words, there was no hint of pleading there. "Hermione! I need you to help me!" Whether the night before facing a Hungarian Horntail or anything else, he already knew I'd be there…

The small, wet sponge in my hand did nothing to wipe up the worry. Harry's body racked like his soul was breaking apart, and he moaned and mumbled and wailed and scowled, but never did he wake. His wand had shattered –had he shattered with it? Worry, wipe, wake…

The sleeping bag gave a great shudder as I bolted upright. After a quick glance at Ginny to ensure myself of her slumber, I brought my tired hand to my forehead and began to weep.

* * *

_A/N: More to come, I promise! Review!_


	2. The Tears the Torture!

_**You know the disclaimer. Enjoy the next installment!**_

* * *

Harry heard faint sobs from below him. He wasn't sleeping, of course.

He couldn't. He couldn't not recognize those sobs, either. Hadn't he heard them, only seven months back? Didn't they still ring in his ears when all was silent?

How many times had he heard them? The first time he knew her to cry, his emotions were laced with guilt. Not entirely badly-placed, either. But still, it wasn't his fault she cried. No, the perpetrator went by a different name.

Ron. The man who was getting married tomorrow, to the selfsame woman he had brought to tears so, so often.

Sometimes it was by carelessness. Couldn't he remember forever the night where all of the joy had ebbed out abruptly when he saw Hermione, quite apart from the parties, waving her wand in a deserted classroom? She was _such_ a skilled witch, but she seldom noticed it. As the perfectly conjured birds flew around her head, he sought the right words to comfort her, but before that, with signature ill timing and tact, Ron walked in, holding the hand of another woman. She cast a spell at him in blind anger before slamming the door behind her with a sob. Were they the same sobs he was hearing now? Harry did not know what was worse: Hermione's tears, or her jealousy? His mind tried to tell him that they were of the same, but his heart knew differently.

Mostly it was by simple, scathing words. They always seemed to flow out of his mouth whenever he wasn't entirely pleased. Luna Lovegood had once remarked, "He can be a bit unkind," and he had felt uncomfortable by the sheer truth of the statement.

Well, no longer. The Harry of now was quite a different man than the Harry of then. He could face the truth, and he could face his friends' failings –a feat of bravery much more difficult than facing Voldemort that Neville Longbottom performed such a long time ago.

Hermione… she was always kind to Neville. She was kind to everyone. To house-elves who hated her, to giants who frightened her. Oh, she was certainly clever enough to be biting when needed. To Malfoy, Umbridge, Scrimgeour, Fudge. Harry almost smiled.

So how could Ron invoke in her such tears? Why, more importantly. Why should Harry leave her to the man who has made her cry? Where was the evidence that marriage would change Ron one whit?

Oh, the times she had cried! The times that saltwater had approached her cheeks, and Harry had been a helpless observer…

"She's a nightmare, honestly." Hermione even missed class to cry over this remark. If only Harry had known to say that Ron didn't matter, that Hermione mustn't listen to him, that she was a dream come true.

A memory floated to him from quite a different chapter of their lives. No prepubescent preteens in the safety of school, but instead three almost-adults, struck out on their own with a whole host of murderers after them.

"Don't lie! You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd have thought he had a bit more to go on than–"

"I didn't say it like that –Harry, I didn't!" Her face had been shining with tears. Suddenly, Harry felt sickened by Ron and his antics. He was tired of Ron's rough handling of Hermione, who offered up her heart so many times to the stupid git. By it all, he could feel nothing more than disgust for the friend he had defended for so long.

"So why are you still here?" He had snarled. For the second time in his life, Harry had no more companionship for this… this _thing_ that shouted back at him. The argument continued on, Harry's distaste growing even more pronounced.

Then, Ron had turned to _her_, and she had said she would stay, and his final words were "I get it. You choose him." She denied it, calling him back, but the truth in that was unclear. And then, and then, and then: he left, and she threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry. She did not sleep that night, nor did she waste any other time to be spent for sleeping. Her tears seeped into his dreams and flooded his soul.

And how could Harry ever, ever let this man have her? She deserved so much better.

She and Harry had such a connection, too. Her words came back to her, and once again the cold night felt rather hot. "It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting and, frankly, you've never been more _fanciable_."

They always finished each other's sentences. If that wasn't a clichéd sign of love, he didn't know what was.

Love. His hand went to his mouth in shock. It was one thing to consider objecting to the marriage, but to initiate another wedding? The idea caught his fancy, and in the world between waking and sleeping, there was no denial, just possibilities as familiar scenes took a new light.

Another time, she had left the Great Hall in tears because a note had said "Harry Potter deserves better." Or perhaps it was the bubotuber pus that had painfully burned her hands. But wouldn't it take both, to leave her with such a level of anguish? Wasn't she the one who had said calmly to Harry: "Just ignore them"?

They had been under the invisibility cloak when she had breathed in his ear, "Shh! Look! He's in there!" The warm, gentle wind on his ear almost stopped the pumping of his valves. So many things he had never associated with Hermione came to mind. Hot. Sexy. It was thrill and intoxication. Then, of course, he shook himself and continued to worry about Draco Malfoy's antics.

They had been through so much together, and it all crashed upon him now. So many moments where the boundaries of friendship seemed to stretch themselves, so many missed opportunities! But Harry knew he had one last. "Speak now or forever hold your peace," someone would say. And would he say anything?

Would she?

The sobbing had quieted now. Whatever would happen would happen.

* * *

_A/N: The next chapter will be the last. Review, and I'd love to hear which direction you want the story to take_.


	3. Like Magic

It was odd that they would end up in the same place, at the same time. However, Harry had already subconsciously determined that they were soul mates, so it did not surprise him too much.

Only just enough so that his glass flew out of his hand and shattered on the Weasley's spotless kitchen floor, but that was no issue. Hermione made a gentle movement with her wand, and the glass flew back, like time had been reversed. Like magic.

Still, she didn't break the silence. Harry cleared his throat, said hi. The sound of his voice surprised him.

"What are the chances?" she drawled merrily, smiling.

Was this real? The smile, or even her presence? He smiled back and sipped the water that had returned to his glass. He meant to respond with an equally light, jovial line. But instead words just poured from his mouth, like the water into the glass: "Do you really want to do this?"

There was a stunned silence. _Awkward_, chastised Harry, mentally slapping his forehead, _What kind of git says that on a girl's _wedding_ night?_

"What do you mean?"

Her voice was not completely steady, and Harry continued to mentally berate and (non-magically) curse himself for a moment. Then, he sipped again, and tried to start over, "Nevermind. Forget it. It was just something stupid."

"But it wasn't."

Da*n! Did she never cease to know what he was thinking? Harry would've suspected Legilimency, if Hermione had not made her position very clear on how morally reprehensible such tactics were. "Respect for the human right of privacy" was a phrase that frequented that particular conversation.

"Harry," she said, bringing him back home.

He did not try to deny it now. He was much too tired. "I'm sorry," he said instead.

"No!" And then, without understanding what was going on, the issue was out and both of them knew what the other knew and were waiting, forlornly, for a stronger person to come and give them the key to the future. Anyone, please. Mad-Eye Moody. Dumbledore. Speak now, or forever hold your peace.

Hermione was the first to voice their fears. She had always been braver than he. "We can't."

"No," Harry said this time. "The war is over. Don't give me any of that bloody 'For the Greater Good'-"

"Don't swear," she interrupted severely. "And I won't."

"I don't care about what they think, or how they feel. I want to do what _I_ want for once," he said fiercely, a small part of him aware of what a spoiled brat he sounded like, but another, currently more dominant part of him, tired of the scorn and the awed glances and the jealous hate and the pressure and the sacrifice and the death and everything he'd ever had to suffer, everything that had ever befallen on him because his name was Harry Potter and that made everyone regard him differently, when all he wanted to do was assimilate with all of the other kids, all of the other people, all of the other happy human beings out there…

"Harry, I want you to _listen to me_," her hand was on his arm, and he looked up. Her eyes were full of some sad wisdom that she had gained as he had built up his frustration.

And then he realized it.

There were tears there, too. And now he had no one to blame. Not Ron, no one but himself whose words had scorched her as quite as much as the man he had been so eager to point the finger of blame.

Something kept him from apologizing for them. Perhaps it was because she had already so readily forgiven him, and he didn't want to remind her of it again. Perhaps it was because he was still disbelieving. Whatever other motives, the least he could do, the least he owed her, was to listen to what she had to say.

The first word out of her mouth was "Ron."

The next words came in this order. "He will _kill_ himself."

"He's threatening you to marry him?" Quickly, numerous cases of abusive relationships from magazines ran through his minds.

"No!" _Too many 'No's in this conversation_, he mused. "He never told me _anything_ like that! Give him more credit! You should remember better than I do! You were there…You promised him that you loved me" _yes, I do,_ "like a sister! If we elope or something, he probably won't literally _kill_ himself -he's wiser than that- but our presence will pain him, and he'll distance himself. Don't you remember why he left you in Fourth Year? The same reason he did last year? Can you really do this to him?"

"I just want a shot at my own happiness-"

"Do you think you'll be happy, Harry James Potter? Do you? When the Weasley family, _your_ family, exiles you, for what you've done to their children? You'll break the hearts of every last one of them. They have lost so much. I know it's not fair, and you don't owe them anything. But you know what? I know you. You will spend every single day of our hypothetical marriage missing your best friend, and being sad and hating your sadness, too. You love him to much to leave him forever; you love him more than me," her voice became softer for a moment, but then she resumed fiercely, "It won't just kill him -it'll kill you. And you do _not_ know yourself if you think you'll be able to pretend that everything is dandy and that you'll be any more useful or cheerful of a husband than a depressed Ashley Wilkes!"

Uh…

"It's called _reading_. You should try it sometime."

"Oh, I was just whelmed by the enormity of your anger."

"Whelmed?"

"It's called _watching movies_. You should try it sometime."

"Look, Harry. An attempt at casual conversation would have been appreciated _before_ we got into all of this!" She gestured wildly around them, as if there was anything other than the pristine room there. "So don't think you can distract me now."

"Okay, okay, I wouldn't _dream_ of distracting the ever studious Hermione Granger."

"My _point_ was: blowing off the wedding tomorrow for each other will not result in happiness."

"What you mean is that your _point_ was that we have no chance of happiness, so might as well do what others want," Harry retorted, but his mind was focused on the words of her rant, on the chilling reality they brought. _You promised him that you loved me like a sister!_ ran through his head over and over again. He had never had any siblings; Dudley did not count. Was that all this was? His mind explored his love for her- he loved her embraces, but did he love her _body_? No. He loved her face, her head on his shoulder, her eyes in his, but did he love her lips? Never did they even cross his mind. The retort had been automatic, but now he knew that his instincts, for once, had failed him.

He hesitantly looked up at her. She looked tired, defeated. "I'm sorry," he began, "for making this harder than it needs to be; this has got to be awesome for you. It's your wedding night! You're going to marry the man you truly love tomorrow. Or-" quickly checking his watch "today. As much as it pains me to say this, you're right. We haven't given them any credit. Ron will make you happy, happier than I ever could. He truly loves you. I've seen it, _so_ many times. He showed you all his memories on the pensieve. He proposed with a handmade ring. Who knows what you've done behind closed doors… You love him, too. Maybe you don't know it, but da*n, Hermione, you're scary when you're angry, and I've never seen you scarier about anyone else." Somehow, remembering her screaming through her tears and socking him in every sodding place she could reach brought him hilarity rather than the usual pang of disappointment. "And Ginny will make me happy. She's fiery, and tough. She has her faults, but you know what? They're mine, too. Merlin, I'm such an idiot. I could never leave her behind..." He paused another time, before his tangent carried him off, trying to gather a conclusion, something that made sense. At that moment, in front of the genius he knew he loved enough to befriend but not to marry, his vocabulary seemed remarkably limited. Finally, he settled on a few simple ones that could be meant. That was all that would matter to her. "And I know that we won't be happy without each other, because we're close as brother and sister can be, but you know what I just realized? We do this, and we'll be together forever. And, by the way, I do know where Ashley Wilkes is from."

"As I know the movie you quoted. It's one in the morning, Harry. Night," and Hermione said this with confidence, for she finally felt that she would be able to sleep.

* * *

_A/N: Alright, as no one bothered to click the little green button to send me opinions, please don't be too mad about the change in spirit. I'd still appreciate reviews, because so far I don't know if anyone likes it (except for _**Shadrac**_, THANK YOU for favoriting) or dislikes it or has even read it through, or if you're just clicking and refreshing._

_Also, any ideas on the movie and book referred to?  
_

_Epilogue's coming up soon!_


	4. Addendum

_**1-17-11 Important A/N: **__This chapter was not originally included in this story. In fact, it was complete in it's four happy chapters one day less than a year ago. Many flames have graced its presence and through them all I have still found a few precious, well meant criticisms. Off of them, I have come to realize that the transition was a bit too abrupt for many readers, and so I add this very __**optional**__ chapter. Hence, the chapter title. __ Enjoy! _

* * *

Harry slipped back to sleep beside his best mate, and almost laughed at the ludicrousness of the fantastic sentiments that had flitted through his mind. In love with Hermione? Sexy? Hot? Ever since Voldemort's death date, Harry's brain had been absolutely intolerable to all-nighters… and now, with water and Hermione's advice running through him, he knew that everything was going to be all right. Everyone found their own way to grow up in seven years, faster than most adults ever did… and now… and now… and now…The thought finished itself in a snore.

* * *

For Hermione, however, sleep was once again not immediate. This time, rather than impatient frustration, Hermione gloried in the glow of warm night around her, as tangible as the sleeping bag crumpled over her knees.

_"I remembered my mother's once cryptic advice to never make decisions when horizontal, even alone, and it seemed to make sense now, because your mind was much closer to extreme states in this position –depression, dreaming, insanity."_

Sitting up in the same warmth she had lain in, she thought of the muggle ABCD's high thoughts. "_It's called reading. You should try it sometime._" How could she have been depressed in the precious present, dreamed of any sexual attraction to a friend who was no less of a sibling than her own sister, been insane enough to consider redacting the post-war peace for a distant possibility? She closed her eyes, her back very straight against Ginny's sturdy wooden desk, and remembered…

When it actually started to work, they thought she might have been developing a higher tolerance for him and learning to accept that his mouth worked before his mind could rectify it, or that his mouth was slowing down and he'd finally learned some people skills. Then they decided that there was no use quantifying growth, because it was happening, happening, happening… Their faults were their communication, their way of accepting themselves and everyone else. Except, of course, that now when they felt the need, they could cut short the tirades by otherwise occupying their mouths.

"I've never really been on a date before," she confessed to him, noting that his face was a paler hue than usual. "I mean, Viktor took me to the Ball fourth year and the library and his ship, but our choices were rather limited." _It wasn't real_, she was saying. _Forgive me for not being impeccable_.

"Er, same here, actually. I mean, with Lavender we mostly just… yeah." _Why were my decisions so stupid? So I could learn how to kiss you better…_ The pensieve helped: he showing her everything because "I'm not that good with words for feelings and stuff, but I still think I'm a little more impressive than a teaspoon."

"What should we do, then? _You're_ the one who's taking me out." Of course, Hermione would want structure.

Ron smiled at the idea of _her_ asking _him_ a question. "What we've always done, I guess." And then he turned to face her as they continued to walk, trusting her to lead him through the mob traffic safely. "And… what we've always wanted to do." Shyly, a large warm hand snaked around hers, and bright red had never seemed so sweet.

It was funny they bothered with the dates, as it had already been set that one day. As the adrenaline faded, perhaps the longevity just needed assurance. In the chaos after the battle, Ron had somehow gotten her alone. He hugged her, he said urgently, "_Did you mean it?_" and she could say _yes_ without a second thought and already he was proposing another question "_Would you mean it for the rest of my life?_" and where _on earth_ had he found the time to get a ring and it wasn't ugly like she would've expected and the second _yes_ was easier, swifter, lighter, stronger than the first and for the second time that day he swept her off her feet.

Seventh year had been erratic, unable to be classified. Three teens in a tent- who was responsible _that_ brilliant plan? Voldemort, no less. At first, it was fast- one Horcrux retrieved, one man injured, one house locked off. Then it slowed down, and one man injured became one man departed. The tears were first of fury, but eventually it was just the pain of _missing_ him, not tempered by anger that was long worn out. Smiles were seldom, his name was avoided, and spirits alternated between determination, frustration, and nostalgia… until he came back. "I heard you coming out of my pocket. Your voice came out of this… My name. 'Ron.' …So I took it out… I was _sure_ I'd heard you… It sort of floated toward me, right to my chest, and then –it just went straight through. It was here. I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me I knew it would take me where I needed to go." He came back for her, because her voice went through to his heart, inside, hot, like that nervous flushed face.

How did people usually get married? Your spouses weren't typically your beaux from school. People met, dated a few years, survived a few hardships together and then figured "This is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with." And when they found out that their spouses, when they were children, acted like children and made mistakes like children and ran like children, it was a peripheral concern which dissolved when you opened your eyes again to observe who they were now. So –she knew how he'd been like, and she'd _been_ the little girl he accidentally made cry: Was it any different, now that he'd apologized for it, grown past it, and made amends to that selfsame person and learned to look so far beyond her bushy hair and buck teeth that he could kiss away her tears after nightmares of Bellatrix Lestrange and tell her that she was perfect?

"_Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right,_" she herself had told Harry and Ron, nearly two years ago, even before Ginny-and-Harry happened. She turned her head to regard the peacefully sleeping redhead, a hand pale in the darkness curling into a fist and releasing again as her mind ran through impossibly far dreams... Ginny, who harbored monsters in a past that did not follow theirs to the T and could give Harry a family by blood in more ways than one.

Her back, leaning against Ginny's desk, gradually slumped down to a lying position, and sleepy hands, as sleepy instinct drove, pulled the sheets around her to suffocate her limbs completely. Her mind was set with smiles against the world, and against the next day, and like the obligatory two feet beyond her homework assignments, it had finally given her leave to rest.

_

* * *

_

_A/N: That chapter was basically for two amazing recent reviewers who actually motivated me to improve:_

_**Moonspinner:**__ I've all ready had some amazing PM-conversation with you, and this is how the whole thing turned out. I ended up not changing any previous chapters, just adding this in to try and smooth out the transition. Also, it includes some random HG/RW fluff that I couldn't avoid- after all, this is "the good parts version" because it's her wedding night and you can't wed in sadness (well, you technically can, but that's in a tragedy.)_

_**Rick Peterson:**__ Good point about the sister. Oh well. I guess that's my random AU component of the story. I'm glad you seem to have found my story "believable," and it was your positive review that catalyzed me to actually shove this thing in there, though you are actually the one person who seemed to be satisfied with the way it was. _

_Also, random acknowledgments to mentioned works: Ashley Wilkes from Gone With the Wind, whelmed from 10 Things I Hate About You, and the quote in this chapter was from Born Confused.  
_


	5. Epilogue: Skipped

Someone was shaking me awake. I heard a murmur: "Get up, dear."

"No," I moaned, rolling away from the offender. "It's a Saturday."

"Merlin, Hermione, you won't miss a class but you'd be late to your own wedding?!"

At that statement, I stopped rolling completely and hit the ground with a large thump. I didn't even notice, though, shooting up to a sitting position and frantically kneading my eyes. Still glued shut, I cried, "Oh my god! What time is it?"

"Don't worry, you've still got three hours until the guests will start arriving," Ginny assured me, bouncing on my bed. "You told me to wake you at seven, and I did, so…"

"Okay, I'm ready now," I cut her off, quickly checking Ginny's mirror. Usually I didn't care much for appearances, but it was my wedding day. In extreme circumstances, you've got to make exceptions. Satisfied that I had no noticeable dark circles, I turned to Ginny, whose eyes were sparkling as much as mine as she slowly raised her hairbrush.

* * *

I slowly walked up the aisle, taking in all of the sights, the sounds, the scores of guests in the seats, the company of reporters in the back (not Rita Skeeter, thank goodness; a nice, _principled_ reporter named Joanne Rowling and her photographer Mary GrandPre), my father on my right. Then, of course, my gaze landed on the few special people crowded near the altar. My sister was smiling, all the way to her eyes, and Ginny was proudly glancing at the audience, ensuring that they liked her handiwork. Then there was that odd bald man, looking faintly disinterested, as he had attended many weddings, funerals, and other occasions in his time. I slowly continued in this linear fashion, my smile aching but persistent, gait bouncing but steady, and hair free but tamed. There was Ron- his attendance was quite unsurprising, to tell you the truth- his eyes averted and a slight, nervous smile gracing his features. In fact, his expression was quite similar to when he had returned to the tents, so long ago, and I had bruised him as much as I could before Harry intervened. At the thought, I involuntarily blushed. But Ron had nothing more to apologize for; surely he wouldn't be fearing my wrath now…

But Harry was staring straight at me. It was unnerving, but I managed to keep up my cheerful countenance until I reached the altar.

And then Harry's expression didn't matter, because I had eyes for only Ron.

Who is to say whether brother or husband is closer? Does it matter? The man's words passed over me like water, I uncaring to hear the phrases so carefully formed for this moment. I forced myself to listen, to pay heed to the words that could change my life. It was just in the nick of time, too, for the priest was saying, "Do you, Hermione Jane Granger…" I glanced at Harry, and he was still looking at me in that odd way. Then he glanced at Ginny, and a new emotion flooded his eyes, and he looked back at me, and I looked at Ron, and knew what to say. "…part?"

"I do." The words immediately felt right. Ron, in front of me, had the same determined expression as when he had saved me from the troll or when he had sacrificed himself in McGonagall's enormous chess game, seven years ago. What did _that_ expression mean?

Also registering my words, the priest turned and said, "Do you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, take this-"

"Er," he said. My eyes widened in shock, and he awkwardly fiddled with his tie in the silence that seemed to envelope us. "No, it's nothing bad!" he said, managing to completely defuse tension. If it wouldn't be entirely inappropriate for the occasion, I would've face palmed. "Er, it's just… I wrote my own vows."

There was more silence, so Ron stumblingly continued, "Er, okay… Hey, 'Mione. I already cherish you, so it would be redundant to repeat that. But, we're probably going to be married now, so I guess that might require more… respect? Humility? Whatever it is, I'll do it. Whatever you need, I'll give you. Our relationship hasn't always been the smoothest, and we've both shed more tears over this than we had to. But now that can change. It will. Over the last year, I've had to grow up. This time, I won't make you cry, or leave you, or doubt you. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is… I do."

Harry and Ginny were lazily lounging at a table, quite zonked out. In fact, most of the guests had retired from dancing; the only pairs left on the dance floor were Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Bill and Fleur, and the bride and groom.

Ginny smiled into the glass of firewhiskey she was sipping. "It's but an hour after their wedding, and they're already bickering."

It was true. They had already managed to have spats about whether or not Ron had _really_ prepared his vows beforehand and which music they should request as their song. Harry and Ginny took a moment to eavesdrop on their current discussion.

"Come off it, you're the one who wanted a traditional wedding. You of all people should know that the bloke leads!"

"Really, Ron, if you don't want me to lead, then don't step on my feet!"

Hermione and Ron's voices then faded as they danced farther and farther away from them. "Yeah," Harry sighed. "They're a perfect match."

Ginny studied Harry. "Why the long face?"

"I dunno… I'm just feeling a bit _old_."

She gently brushed his face. Her hand slid down his cheek and settled on his shoulder. "I'm sorry; you've gone through enough to be old. But today you can be young. The war is over, Harry. The funerals are put away. Now all's left is this wedding."

"Not just this wedding," Harry said, swallowing. There she was in front of him, cheerful and stubborn and young. The kind of wife a tired soldier could retire to. This was his moment to prove to the Sorting Hat his Gryffindor courage. He fished something out of his pocket, hoping he could predict her answer.

And then he changed his mind. He wasn't ready, not now, not yet. Soon, he would be. But now… Abruptly, he stood up. "Come on, Ginny."

"You want to dance?"

"You just had to steal the words from my lips."

Their rocking forms passed those of Hermione and Ron, and for a moment Harry wondered if he should ask for a dance with her, and Ron could hold his sister for a while. Only for a moment Harry harbored this notion, before returning to the tame flame in his arms. It reminded him of how different all of his and Hermione's embraces had been. Reassuring, but there was something missing; something he could never place until now... Ginny's warmth left no room for regrets.

Sometimes, people look back and rue missed opportunities. But then again, there are those other times that opportunities are better left skipped.

* * *

_A/N: Hey guys! It's done! Liked it? Hated it? Wanted a dramatic elopement instead? You know the drill (well, Shadrac and "paper" does): review!  
_

_Oh, and also, a few things to mention. I am devoutly canon. Right. So now are you thinking- "But Hermione didn't have a sister!" Well, canon never says she _doesn't_ have a sister. I, for one, believe that Hermione has a muggle life that is far too overlooked by Harry and his wizarding cohorts. Ginny is a bridesmaid, but I don't think she's quite close enough to Hermione to be her Maid of Honor. So a sister is someone whom she can remain best friends with while off in an obscure magical boarding school.  
_

_Finally, I am so excited! Like, I have never written a wedding scene before, so in writing this I was frantically trying to figure out the order of the procession, the words that are said, etc. etc. You may have noticed how Hermione doesn't listen to much of what the priest says. Most of that is conveniently "skipped" over. :) Suddenly, I am humming "Hands Down" by Dashboard Confession. _"This air is blessed, you share with me... My heart is yours to fill or burst... And you kissed me like you meant it; and I know that you meant it_." I wouldn't go so far as to call that this fic's "theme song" or whatever. It's just nice._

_To an unsigned reviewer who I hope will see this: "**paper**," thanks for reviewing. I didn't mean to mislead anyone or "advertise" this as HP/HG. There is a little romance between them and they are the main characters. I apologize for any misunderstandings. I'm also sorry that the relationships and characters seem unrealistic to you; I did my best to make them real and it's sad to know that I've failed in that respect. Harry's not _any _best man, though, so by his personality I would expect his loyalty to hold out no matter what. He's extreme, but Rowling made him that way. Thank you, though, for the comparison to JKR, even if you didn't mean it as a compliment. And also, thank you for being polite in your critique. I appreciate that._

_By the way, to **Honor-Harrington1982** and all other readers, I'd like to inform you that the story is finished; therefore, no need for story alerts._

_All right, everything's said and done for me. The couples are in their places and all. In this short note of mine, I truly hope you haven't forgotten to review!_

_**Note: **Please do not flame this story. If you did not read the summary and are now horribly disappointed and upset, I apologize for wasting your time. However, that is no excuse for personal attacks, profanity, etc. Should you be looking for happy Harry Hermione endings, there are hundreds. You can try Shadrac for starters, as he has a wedding scene that might reasonably replace chapters 3 and 4. But please do not shoot me down, as that is counterproductive and wastes even more of your time on a story you didn't even enjoy.  
_


End file.
